The Nabootique Perils
by SuperMiss
Summary: A series of short vignettes all set inside the boutique or the flat. Short and funny with a bit of H/C.
1. Glass

**Mighty Boosh H/C vignettes **

_**Author: **__Nao_asakura, aka SuperMiss _

_**Disclaimer: **__Julian Barratt, Noel Fielding and a bunch of other people own the show. I own myself, my computer and a nice special edition dvd boxset. _

_A/N: I felt like writing a series of short vignettes about the Boosh. Some will be stupid, funny, full of perils and other strange stuff that happened, mainly, inside the Nabootique and the flat. Here is the first one._

_

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#1 - Glass_

Vince Noir, all shiny attire and cowboy boots, was sitting cross-legged on the counter of the shop, reading the latest issue of Cheekbone. Well, he was not actually reading it at the moment. He was musing, lost in his little world full of colors and fashion and hats, while his eyes passed from one glossy photo to another. He was humming slightly under his breath, as he considered a tune for a new song.

His quietness, alone in the desert boutique, was suddenly shattered by the lisping voice of the little shaman – he could apparently pass the front door without having the bell ringing – which made him jump out of his skin. "Oi! You're not as light as a feather, Vince! I've already told you: you break the counter, you pay it!" And he was gone, in a flash of purple turban.

Of course he was feathery, thought Vince, meanwhile, looking at his reflection in the green glass of the counter. What did he want to tell him, that midget? That he was getting fat? Well, he wasn't actually doing exercise or anything – the only thought of having to break a sweat for absolutely no purpose was a torture to Vince – and he was eating twice his weight in sweets each week, but—

He leaned back again, pushing on the heel of his boot to get comfy against the cash register, and, right on cue, an horrible grinding noise suddenly filled the room. He stilled and watched with absolute horror a thin crack running from his Cuban heel and spreading in all directions. The green glass of the counter was just too thin, he was too heavy, absolutely not feathery, and his shirt was going to be ruined and—

The crash and the cry that followed it echoed through the whole flat. Then there was silence. Naboo was probably too stoned to care at the moment, so it was up to Howard Moon, man of action, to come up from the storage room and see what happened. He took the stairs, tiptoeing and shifting his weight so that the wood would not creak, and mentally slapped himself for having left the broom downstairs. What if it was robbers? Oh God, it was bound to be robbers! Who had ever heard of a shop which never gets robbed?

Someone cried for help, but it was muffled and not really convinced. As if they wanted to draw attention but in the meantime weren't really sure they should. Something crunched beneath his shoe and he took in the scene in front of him. There was glass everywhere, but mostly on top of a certain rock'n'roll star who had somehow managed to fall inside the broken counter. Howard suddenly felt the urge to gloat and laugh, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed the shards of green glass, embedded in his friend's forearms.

"Vince?"

The other man looked up and Howard could have sworn his big blue eyes were full of unshed tears. His bottom lip quivering, he babbled:

"There is blood on my new shirt. I didn't— Naboo's going to kill me!"

"Stay where you— Don't move, alright!" said Howard, raising a placating hand. And with that he was gone, he turned on his heels and stormed back into the storage room.

—Only to come back a few seconds later, armed with what looked like a small hoover. When it came to domestic emergency – and with Vince around, it was quite frequent – Howard seemed to be developing new skills which allowed him to move fast without bumping here and there. He was sharp, accurate and deadly. Well, maybe not deadly, but certainly a lot less clumsy than his usual self.

Within a few seconds the offending shards of glass were all safely sealed inside the belly of the household appliance, and Howard was helping a rather ruffled Vince out of his green sarcophagus.

"You should be happy the cash register didn't plummeted right on your head," said Howard, leading him towards a chair.

"T'would have messed up my hair," mumbled Vince.

His white shirt, his fabulous new white shirt with little sequins and embroideries was torn and, yes, bloody. He didn't do blood ; it was just plain gross. Howard hands were gentle and firm, and he removed the remaining shards without even trying to snicker.

In the end it was Vince who teased him about his new found weapon. Howard Moon, man of action, and his trusty vacuum cleaner to save the world. Howard grumbled in his small moustache, about ungrateful twats and the necessity to always be prepared. The shop was a mess and Naboo was going to kill them both – no matter what Vince did, Howard always ended up guilty as well. And so he added, a little louder: "Maybe you should consider a diet."

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_A/N: Ideas, thoughts, constructive and/or destructive criticism: feel free to leave any kind of trace of your passage here, it would make my day._

_A/N 2: If anyone feels like they could do some beta-reading for me – proof reading, to seek and destroy any strange expressions remaining throughout my scribbles – leave a message after the bip— erm, contact me._


	2. Green

_**Disclaimer**: see chapter 1.  
**A/N**: Thanks to kapi, my first reader. Thanks to the anonymous readers, and to the ones who took the time to review last time. I was really glad to receive positive feedback._

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_#2 - Green_

It had looked like plain orange juice, forgotten on the kitchen table. There was no way it tasted like orange juice, but he was thirsty so he downed it anyway. Then he tiptoed his way back to his room and went back to sleep.

Howard was suddenly woken up by yelling. His mouth tasted as if some animal had crept inside during the night and decided to die there. He couldn't distinctively make out what he was saying, but it was definitively Naboo he was hearing. And he sounded angry. Howard was about to ignore it and go back to sleep when another voice added to the commotion; much more closer, and much more distressed.

The door to the bathroom was closed and Howard leaned on it, working the handle but it was no use. Vince had stopped screaming – something about his hair, that Howard couldn't quite make out – but he still wouldn't open the door.

"What's wrong with you people!" Naboo's lisping voice came from the kitchen. "I can't leave a potion out without one of you jumping on it and drinking it." He shoved an empty bottle labeled "do NOT drink" under Howard's nose and huffed.

"Vince drank that?" trailed Howard, not fully awaken yet. "What does it do, then?"

"My hair!" came the sobbing voice from the other side of the door.

"Naboo want Bollo to break door?" asked Bollo. He was a bit worried about Vince, but he also thought people shouldn't scream this loud, this early in the morning.

"Go on, Bollo," said the tiny shaman with a sigh, and Howard cringed internally when the huge gorilla started pounding at the door to the bathroom. He was going for a third round when the door suddenly opened, and Bollo just get carried along by his momentum and collided with Vince, falling to the ground in an entangled mess of silk gown and black fur.

Howard did his best to help the gorilla get up, while he was muttering excuses and saying that "stupid precious Vince" got in the way. It's when the jazz maverick saw his electro friend still on the tiled floor of the bathroom that things went a little out of hand. His hair was green, totally green, as green as meadow-grass in the North of Scotland, where it was only disturbed by the wind and the rain and... Stop, mind, stop rambling about your friend's electric green hair! Wait, was it really sort of glowing?

And then Howard was laughing out loud before he even realized what he was doing. It was just so perfect; even in his darkest Machiavellian schemes – that he never got to carry out for real – he wouldn't have thought of something that great. But in a sense it was logical since even when he was really mad at Vince, he had never ever considered to take it out on his hair.

It turned out that it was "merely a small side effect" from the potion, as Naboo put it with a shrug, ignoring Vince's killing glance. Howard had to run the shop all by himself after that, since Vince wouldn't let anyone see him in "that state". Because, he said, if Howard had laughed so much, what would other people think! He had looked at him with very sad eyes, Howard thought; with a lost, childlike expression – he was probably a little concussed, too, after having received an ape at full pelt in the face.

But Howard felt bad; of course, he would laugh at him each and every time the wannabe electro/rock star tried on a new outfit – designed, it would seem, by a blind and out of his mind creator (probably on drugs) – but it was the jumpsuits and the shiny boots Vince had chosen to wear, and not a change he had discovered in the morning after waking up. What a shock it must have been!

Howard chuckled and then tried to refrain himself, pulling a face and nearly biting his tongue in the process. He was glad there was no one in the shop. Vince was upstairs, locked up in his room; Naboo had fled, the coward, on the pretext of shamanic duties, just after he had casually revealed there was no "antidote." Regular hair dye was eaten by the glowing green, which only seemed to shine more, eliciting more cries from the bathroom. After that, Vince had retreated in his room. They would have to wait.

Howard wondered how long his friend would go without food or entertainment – basically, someone to annoy. He couldn't always understand Vince's obsession with his look, but when it came down to humiliation, he knew what it felt like. He remembered vividly that time in 6th grade, when a school bully had written on his face with a permanent marker. Vince had laughed. And then he'd said this could become a new fashion, if it wasn't insults and doodles.

Maybe he too could do something, this time.

Several hours later, when a man dressed in black climbed up the wall after having thrown pebbles against his window, to deliver Vince the new copy of Cheekbone magazine, he stared wide-eyed with surprise at the front-page headline: "Green Is the New Black," along with a picture of a young starlet sporting flashing green hair. He came out of his room to find Howard, sitting on the sofa, watching some obscure black and white documentary on the telly.

"You're behind this, aren't you?" he said with a small smile, holding up the magazine.

"Naboo helped me. But it was my idea," Howard added quickly. "We're now the proud sellers of Naboo's miracle hair dye. One drink, and you're in fashion, yes sir."

Vince chuckled, his smile broadening under his mop of grass-green hair.

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_**A/N**: I quite like the way it turned out, even if it wasn't really what I intended to do first._

_Oh, and again, reviews are love! And there are more little scenes to come._


	3. Fabulous Jacket

_**Author**: Nao_asakura, aka SuperMiss  
**Disclaimer**: see chapter 1.  
**Thanks**: kapi & my readers._

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_#3 Fabulous Jacket_

When Vince came back to the shop, in the afternoon, he was literally beaming with joy. His new jacket was just wonderful. Perfect. Howard was going to hate it. Naboo would probably kill him when he'd discover that he had taken the money from the register to buy it. But it was definitely worth the cost. Marvellous jacket. And Bollo, well, Bollo had eaten enough "magic cakes" to stay stoned for about a week, at least, so he wouldn't give a damn anyway.

Vince was late – again? As always? Howard didn't even want to know what he was up to this time. Another psychedelic excuse and it would be forgotten, because there was nothing he could do, and Naboo didn't care, despite the typed reports Howard was regularly handing him.

The door bell jingled and a jacket-clad rock star entered the boutique. Said jacket was so red and so flamboyant Howard was pretty sure it was going to cause retinal burns. Vince smiled, apparently so engrossed in his new purchase that he was totally forgetful about the fact that he was half a day late. A cheerful "Alright?" was already forming on his lips, when a tall man lunged at him from behind and grabbed him. Vince made a startled gasp and his blue eyes went huge when the other man clawed at his jacket and rammed a gun against his head.

Vince's first thought was that the man was after his jacket. Then one word only kept flashing in his mind: "crease!" and he had to fight the overwhelming urge to shake the other man's grip from his shoulder and neck. Only then it occurred to him that Howard looked utterly petrified, his small eyes fixed on, the shiny, deadly gun the man had to his head, pressed against his lovely hair.

It was beginning to get rather painful, being hit in the head with that thing. The robber was shouting in his ear, and Howard stayed behind the counter with his hands in the air on either side of his head, doing his best impersonation of a rabbit stuck in the headlights of a car. No help from him, then. Anyway, it wasn't as if there was anything left in the register.

What to do, what to do? Think heroic, think maverick. "Oh God, don't kill me, I've got so much to give!" Howard sputtered, and Vince looked pissed.

"Oi, tiny eyes, you're not the one with a gun to— ark!" The robber tightened his grip on the smaller man and Vince began to cough.

"Shut up, both of you!" cried the thief. "You!" Howard raised his hands a little higher with a shriek. "Give me the money or I put a bullet in the man-lady's head!" He pressed his gun threateningly against the side of Vince's face.

The cash register opened with a small "ding" and Howard visibly paled at the sight of the empty drawer. He seemed to be overwhelmed by despair, the robber was shouting again, deafening Vince, and no one saw him reaching for his pocket.

A blaring alarm made them all jump, and the thief didn't wait to see where it came from. The gun clattered to the ground and he was fleeing from the boutique. Vince took the time to brush his shoulders, straightening the cloth, then he picked up the discarded weapon.

"What— what are you doing?" stammered Howard from behind the counter where he was rooted to the spot, his arms still in the air.

"It's a toy gun, Howard, it's written on the side."

And to prove his point, Vince pointed the barrel of the gun towards Howard's face and pressed the trigger, shooting water in the other man's eyes, who made a strangled, unmanly noise.

"What was that, earlier?" asked Howard, water dribbling down his chin.

"The alarm, you mean?" Vince cracked a smile. "Genius, innit? It's the jacket's emergency pocket." He patted the side of the red and glittering garment, as if it explained everything. "You know, to attract the attention of people if you're in trouble."

Howard didn't really like the idea of Vince needing something like that to protect himself. Vince's life was supposed to be happy and carefree and full of rainbows. He didn't know what to think of it, but the jacket had actually proved useful, so he didn't say anything. As an afterthought, he asked: "Where's all the money?"

Vince had the decency to pull a guilty face, but quickly added: "Took it yesterday. But the jacket saved us from being mugged, so it's a good investment, don't you think?"

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_**A/N**: Merry Christmas ~ Joyeux Noël !  
Next chapter will be entitled "Winter Wonderland" (though it's not a Xmas story) and should be here before 2010._


	4. Kitchen Disaster

_#4 Kitchen Disaster_

They never did special breakfasts, Howard mused one day. He remembered when his mother made them pancakes or waffles from time to time, and it was like a little celebration – for nothing, like a surprise. Vince liked surprises, and he liked to eat.

"That settles it then," he told himself, "tomorrow, there'll be pancakes for breakfast, or my name's not Howard Moon."

Howard had never really been clever with his hands (except when it came to music), and in a kitchen he became a walking disaster. He opened the flour package and it cracked, spilling the white powder on the tiled floor. He banged his head on a cupboard door while looking for a bowl. He cut his finger on the lid of the bottle of milk. With yelps and curses he managed to go through his recipe.

And then, he had to face the frying pan. But it wouldn't be said Howard Moon had been defeated by a kitchen utensil, no sir.

The occasional yelp and crash coming from the kitchen didn't wake Vince up. In fact, nothing could wake Vince. One time Howard had spent half a day locked up in the bathroom because the door had jammed while Vince was having a little afternoon sleepy.

No, if Vince woke up at 10am, it was because of the burnt smell permeating the air in the whole flat. It was rather nice, he thought, after the initial doubt about the need to make a 999 call. There was a sweet quality to whatever was burning that Vince didn't miss – as if someone had tried to make caramel and left the sugar on the fire for too long.

"Pancakes, pancakes, round suns in a morning plate. Black and burnt, black and burnt. Oh!" Vince sang in his head while he donned a large t-shirt and ruffled his hair. Morning breakfast was the only time when Vince made a concession about being seen without his hair perfectly done. Howard never said anything – he knew better than to say anything about the mod's hair – and Naboo and Bollo weren't usually up and about before the beginning of the afternoon.

He stepped in the kitchen, and it looked like a warfare zone. Howard was warily holding a fuming pan in one hand, and he had the other in his mouth in an attempt to cool down his burnt fingers. There were white streaks of flour in his hair and sugar on his brow.

"'Ello sugary nightmare," said Vince in a singsong voice, and he sat down at the kitchen table, where several brown things on a plate were claiming to be pancakes.

There was a slightly awkward silence; only disturbed when the last pancake suddenly frizzled in the pan and Howard started coughing, his eyes stinging because of the smoke emanating from it. He dumped the pan in the sink and sat down too, holding his scaled hand in a wet towel.

"So, it's not that bad, then?" Howard asked tentatively.

It would have been so easy to laugh and say, "Nah, it's awful, let's have Cheerios instead," but seeing Howard's tiny eyes trying to look big as he hopefully waited for an answer, Vince decided not to say what was on his mind, just for once. It was indeed awful, but he had already eaten worse tasting things, so he smiled and nodded, taking another mouthful of burnt pancake.

"Well, can't you hear them cry, Howard? 'Oh noes! Why have you made us so ugly and so grainy, Creator? At least have the decency to eat us and ease our pain! Uh! Ah!'" went Vince, pulling faces while he made the crippled pancakes talk in a nasal voice.

"Why did you want to make pancakes so badly, Howard?"

The answer bubbled in Howard's chest and got caught somewhere in his throat. Tobewithyoumakeyousmile.

"That's what families do," he managed to say.

"And as we're a fucked up family all we've got is burnt pancakes?"

"We can always add maple syrup."


	5. Strawberry Shampoo & Vampires

_#5 Strawberry Shampoo & Vampires_

_A/N: This chapter contains no actual vampires. However, it may contain some (non graphic) slash._

One morning, Howard nearly dropped his cup of tea when Vince casually told him he firmly believed a vampire was watching him at night.

"He just... sorta stay there. In the dark. And he watches me." Vince shrugged after that, as if it was nothing to have a dead but not quite dead creature of the night visiting you whilst you were sleeping in your room.

Howard snorted and responded nothing, bizarrely at a loss for words. He pretended to be deeply engrossed in his thoughts, and Vince kept talking in a happy voice, about his hair which kept growing and how it was unfair that there wasn't any midnight barber for him, only vampires.

"Maybe they're good vampires, who knows," said Howard tentatively.

"How so?" said Vince with a frown.

"Hm, toothless ones? Oh, no, I know! Maybe they're veggies."

"You sure you're alright, Howard?" Vince asked, looking at him and narrowing his eyes. His friend's eyes were avoidant, he looked a bit flushed and his moustache was twitching ever so slightly.

"What? Yes, why do you think I would—"

And then Vince was smirking and holding onto his arm, "Don't tell me you're afraid of my vampire, you nonce!"

"D-Don't touch me."

***

This had to stop; that's what he kept telling himself. And yet here he was again, tiptoeing his way through the dark flat, creepy and slightly ashamed of himself. But there was no way he could sleep, not after having nearly given himself away this morning, not after having spent half an hour listening to Vince talking about vampires and his hair.

His hair. Damn it.

Howard pushed the door to Vince's room, careful not to make it creak. Vince was fast asleep in his bed, a small smile on his lips as he was probably dreaming about enchanted wardrobes and talking llamas. The curtains weren't closed properly and the moon illuminated the whole bedroom.

Just to be on the safe side, Howard raised a finger to his lips in a hush gesture, staring coldly at the round white face.

The moon kept on smiling and said nothing.

And like the nights before, Howard came up to Vince's bed, until he was close enough to get a huff of the scent of his hair. Strawberry shampoo; Howard really liked this one. He stayed there for a while, shrouded in the dark, watching the electro ponce sprawled on his back with his dark hair all shiny in the moonlight.

Howard really thought he was asleep for good, and he never saw it coming. In two seconds flat Vince was sitting and a hairbrush was hurled towards him. It hit him smack between the eyes and for a moment he actually saw stars.

"No vampire sneaks up on Vince Noi— Howard? What are you doing on the floor?" Vince seemed genuinely confused, and his brow furrowed while he took in the lack of vampire in the room.

"I was, there was, hmm..." Howard tried to find some suitable explanation to the fact that he was lurking in the shadows of his best friend's room, but the words came out all jumbled, and the concussion he surely had wasn't helping at all.

"I was protecting you," he finally sputtered, raising a shaky hand to his brow, carefully feeling his abuse forehead with the tip of his fingers.

"I'm so sorry, Howie, I thought _he _was back, and it really creeps me out, because even if he doesn't have teeth, he's... dead! And totally out of fashion." He went to help Howard up, leading him to the foot of the bed, sitting down next to him; a little too close to Howard's comfort, really, but he didn't trust himself to say anything right now.

"You haven't seen him, then?" Vince's eyes were round and really blue in the moonlight. Howard thought for a moment that he was making fun of him, knowing exactly what he was up to and ready to call him a perv.

Instead, Vince's eyes flickered to the part of the room which was plunged in the darkness, and he suddenly grabbed Howard's hand, saying, "Could you, say, just stay with me for a little while? To make sure _he _won't come back?"

***

High in the sky, there was the moon. He stayed quiet for a while, then he started talking, to no one in particular:

"The little man, he is not really bright, eh, because he – wait, I'm bright! I'm the moon!"

Then there was an awkward moment when he just kept on grinning foolishly.

"Hm. What was I saying, eh?" he frowned and carried on, "He, the man, he should have known that they, the vampires, they don't come out when I'm up. Eh?"

He frowned again, looking down at the Earth below. Then he grinned once more before turning round.

***

In the now quiet and vampire-free room, Vince slept with a huge smile on his face, and a strong arm around his waist. Howard had his small eyes wide open in the dark, and he all could think of was, "Is he really that stupid?"


End file.
